Words of a Distraught Drama Queen
by Angel of Music lover
Summary: Some thoughts that Audrey might have had after the bohemians suggested that she and Christian write Spectacular Spectacular together.


**A/N: Okay, usually I only write Moulin Rouge stuff that deals with Christian and Satine. But as much as I love it… it gets boring. So then I had this random thought today while listening to the soundtrack, "No one on fanfiction writes about Audrey". And thus this story was born!!! It'll probably only be a oneshot unless people really like it. Then I might consider extending it into a few short chapters. This will be from her point of view, so you all know. Right after she storms out of the movie and leaves the writing to Christian. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge… but I can pretend I own Christian. :D**

I am prepared to say that I have _never _been more insulted in my life! As I dodge these lunatics driving their horse and carriages all around me I can feel my face flaming in anger. And let's just say that my complexion does _not _look well when my cheeks are flaming in indignation.

To even _suggest _that I share my writing abilities with that grungy urchin! Why it's unthinkable! My own bohemian friends, abandoning me for some new up and coming starlet! I thought just yesterday that the idea was unthinkable but clearly I overestimated the loyalty of drunken bohemians.

No matter, I shall find myself some new friends to write for. I don't know where or how but I will do it. I don't need those ragamuffins always ruining my wonderful and spirited plays! My plays are probably not even in the same league as that green youngster… what was his name? Chris? Ewan? Oh no matter, he is of little importance.

Though he had nice bone structure… and beautiful eyes. No Audrey, don't get yourself into this talk. No matter what a person looks on the outside it is the talent that is important. And that boy is _talent less. _

"The hills are alive with the sound of music…" What rubbish! It doesn't even flow with the wonderful melody that I wrote out for the song in mind. It's not my fault that the little bald man can't play the piano. I had no one else for the job so I _had _to hire him. If it weren't for his dreadful _droning_ my own lyrics would have fit in splendidly! Perfectly! Spectacularly!

Oh my, all of this injustice seems to have caused my hair to fall out of place. If only I had something with me to fix it with…

And don't even get me started on the Argentinean. He is good for tangoing but other than that you can hardly get a word out of his rambling mouth spewing nonsense. It's preposterous to even consider the man to be an actor! But, Zidler threw him at me as the poor man had no job and nowhere to go. So I, being the very kind and considerate soul I am, took the drunkard in.

"Audrey," Harold said, "This poor lost soul needs your guidance. I trust that your unending patience and wise ways shall bring him back to his oneness." And with that the unconscious man was thrust on me. At first I thought he was knocked out because he drank himself into a stupor. Then I realized it was because of a disease and rehearsals were always dragging on because he passed out in the middle of them! He would be right in the middle of one of my wonderfully written speeches and then he would just collapse on the floor. In today's case, right through the very floorboards!

Anyway, Toulouse was in no position to order me about the way he did this afternoon. The man is three feet tall for goodness sakes… and if it weren't for _me_ then he wouldn't even have a place to stay! Oh sure he has art… but believe me those stick figures that he draws out on canvas will get him nowhere. He would be left on the side of the grimy, filthy streets begging people to give him money for absinthe if I hadn't taken him under my beautifully feathered wing.

So you see, it is inevitable that in a couple of days those good for nothing twits will come knocking at my door and begging for forgiveness. Their new writer will have completely destroyed the show and I will be the only one who will be able to mend it in time for the performance. I am Audrey after all… any production would _kill_ to have me writing for them.

Not to mention my impeccable taste in style. Why, I could be a writer AND a designer! I would make millions I tell you and all of Paris would grovel at my feet! I can picture all of France down on its knees… perhaps even all of Europe!

And then those bohemians will be sorry. Oh yes, they will regret the day that they tried to make me write with another author. They will rue that they attempted to force me into something that would degrade my honor. And they will especially lament that they forced me to bare my teeth at them in return!

Now all I have to do is wait for them to come to me. I have finally reached my apartment and sit as I chuckle over my obvious triumph. I shall have the last laugh, not they. I'm sure they're boozing it up with their new writer right now and perhaps Toulouse has even gone as far as to pull out the absinthe. Pah! I bet the boy hasn't ever even _met_ the Green Fairy before.

I will wait for the Moulin Rouge to burst into flames and all of the whores and the dancers will cry to me for aid. I watch for signs of Zidler or Toulouse walking down the street towards my apartment, a desperate gleam in their eyes. And I listen for their tears of anguish over my loss and their whimpers of pardon towards me for the terrible injustices done upon me and my art!

Yes, it is only a matter of days now. Perhaps hours if the boy is particularly dreadful they will come to me on their hands and knees in mere hours.

But now that I think of it, perhaps I should write down that silly little verse that the whelp sang just now. Perhaps I can mold it into my own creation. Let's see… _the hills are a live with the sound of… _music? _With songs they have sung for a hundred years! _

Yes. I'm sure I could work with that if I so wish if for no other purpose than to throw it right back into the handsome face of the clown who wrote it when I make it big. I will gossip about it and soon the laughter of critics and civilians everywhere will reach the wretched boy's ears.

Now that I've sorted everything out, I believe I shall go and fix my lipstick. It seems to have smudged a bit during my cries for justice. After that I will soak my poor throbbing feet in some warm water and make a nice big dinner. Now who shall have the last laugh?

**A/N: Well what did you think? Bad, good, could use a little work, worth reading at all? Anything is great feedback. I personally feel that it was a little too scattered and disorganized. It was hard to write since we really don't know much about Audrey. **

**And just to clear this up, I was in no way, shape, or form trying to stereotype anyone. **


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